Of Ice Sculptures and Sweetened Doughs
by powderedsugarwaffle
Summary: The first time Cullen meets her, there is an alarming amount of ice sculptures scattered across the library. Cullen/Surana
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Of Ice Sculptures and Sweetened Doughs

**Summary:** The first time Cullen meets her, there is an alarming amount of ice sculptures scattered across the library. Cullen/Surana

**Genre(s): **friendship, humor, and a hint of (awkwardly written) romance.

**Warning(s) for: **possible inaccuracies of the Dragon Age setting, a (high) probability of poor Cullen characterization, and a whole lot of nonsense.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Dragon Age series. I do, however, own Eliora.

**Note(s): **I… don't know what to say about this fanfic. I had fun writing it? It's my first attempt at both a romance and a multi-chaptered fic? Either way, I just hope you find some amusement in reading this. Reviews, as always, are much appreciated – and they're pretty much my only source of motivation for quicker updates. What's the point in writing and uploading something that nobody's really interested in, you know?

**Edited: **August 23, 2012

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><p>The first time Cullen meets her, there is an alarming amount of ice sculptures scattered across the library.<p>

All of which are shaped suspiciously like pastries. Specifically cakes. And cookies. And pies. And – wait, is that supposed to be a _roasted chicken_?

…suffice to say, Cullen is feeling very confused. So, like any good (or unbearably bored) templar with a strong sense of justice (or simply too much free time in their hands), Cullen decides to investigate this strange phenomenon. He begins his search by following the trail that the ice sculpted pastries (and one ice sculpted roasted chicken, Maker, what is up with _that_) have made.

The trail eventually leads him to a secluded corner of the library. Filling the corner are even _more_ ice sculptures of baked goodies (but thankfully, no more roasted chickens) and several piles of books lay scattered on the ground, some stacked neatly in groups of five and others not so neatly in hazardous clumpings of tens and twenties. The most curious thing about this place, however, might just be the cloaked lump lying slumped over one of the more hazardous looking piles of literature.

Cullen stares at the motionless mass. He doesn't know what kind of protocol this situation calls for. It figures that out of all the things he'd been taught and prepared for in his training as a knight, ice sculptures and cloaked lumps of _something_ would be his first adversary on the job. His mentors hadn't advised him on what to do in situations like these. And really, Cullen can't blame them.

What could they have possibly directed him to do? Slice any ice sculptures you face with your sword in half like it were a particularly dangerous maleficar? Ask the Maker to forgive all cloaked lumps of their sin of slumping atop piles of books in a decidedly sacrilegious manner? Right, like performing either one of those actions would do him any good.

...maybe he should just alert Knight-Commander Greagoir of his findings. If anyone would be able to make sense of this odd scenario, it'd be Knight-Commander Greagoir.

Before he can even attempt to put his plan to action, however, the cloaked lump on the pile of books _groans_. Cullen pauses. Stops and stares as the lump rises from its rest and tosses the cloak covering itself away to reveal–

An… elf. It's an elf. A female to be precise. A brunette whose hair reaches a little bit past her shoulders. And she's wearing robes. Apprentice robes, if he's not mistaken.

So. A mage, then.

He doesn't know whether or not to be surprised by this revelation. Or what course of action he should be taking now. Should he confront the mage? Should he go seek out Knight-Commander Greagoir? Should he just turn around and leave and pretend nothing's out of the ordinary?

Well, whatever it is he's supposed to do in this case, he's pretty sure it's not what he's doing at the moment – which is staring blankly at the mage as she stretches out her arms overhead and gives out a drawn-out yawn. Cullen wonders, absentmindedly, just how long she'd been napping. And why, out of all the places in the Tower, had she decided to camp out here in the library.

The mage in question seems to finally take notice of his presence after she's finished with her stretch. Wide blue eyes stare at him. Cullen stares helplessly straight back.

An awkward silence passes.

"…so, um." The mage's words, as is her expression, are distinctly uncomfortable, as if she has no idea of what is considered the proper etiquette for this situation. Cullen can sympathize – just what are they supposed to do? "How, ah… How are you doing today, Ser Templar? Fine day for a stroll across the, um, library, I see."

She is looking hopefully at him. Clearly, she wants him to play along and pretend nothing out of the ordinary is happening. Like stumbling upon a cloaked mage sleeping atop a pile of books in a room full of a ludicrous amount of ice sculptures shaped like pastries is normal. Right.

"…fine, thank you," is his inevitable response, deciding to humor the mage a little. What else can he do, really? His options here are really quite limited. He could try to go seek out Knight-Commander Greagoir but chances are that by the time he found his superior and led him back to this area, the mage would've already gotten up and left. And the alternative to that would be to just leave the place and forget about today's odd events but what good would that really accomplish? Other than bring a bit of peace to his mind, that is. Out loud, Cullen says, "There are, uh, a lot of ice sculptures. Here, in this room, that is."

Great conversationalist, he is.

"What? Oh. _Oh_." The mage turns her head back and forth, looking from ice sculpture to ice sculpture in the area, her mouth forming into a surprised little 'O', as if she's just realizing their presence in the room. She isn't acting as if this is any big shock though – maybe ice sculptures of baked treats are a normal sight for magi? "Oh, you mean _those_. They're, ah, mine. I mean. I, um, sort of made them?"

Cullen stares. Out of all the things she could have said, this was not what he'd been expecting. He can't help but ask a little incredulously, "You _made_ them?"

She has the decency to look sheepish. "It's a, um, a bit of a hobby of mine. I've always had an affinity for ice spells and well…" She scratches the back of her head and tries a laugh, the sound nervous. "…I found that I just really like to make ice sculptures? They're jolly good fun to pass the time, really. You should try it sometime – though, I suppose it'd be a lot more difficult for you, what with you having no magic and all. Not that that's a _bad _thing, mind you – I'm sure that you templars can have a good time without magic, even though it's kind of hard for me to imagine any of you guys smiling, what with the majority of you supervising us mages with stern faces twenty-four seven… Oh, um, no offense was meant by that, Ser Templar."

She looks genuinely worried about his upcoming reaction_._ Her posture looks a great deal tenser than it was before, as if she's… bracing herself for something? Cullen isn't quite so sure what to make of this.

"Ah, no. None taken, you're, ah, probably quite right?" Cullen's certain he sounds like quite a bit of an idiot right now. At least the mage's shoulders have noticeably relaxed. Even if she is looking at him a bit oddly now. He fumbles for a different topic. "You, ah, wouldn't mind explaining why you made ice sculptures of pastries, would you? If it's not too much trouble to ask, I mean."

"Huh? Oh. Oh, right! Those. There's, ah, a perfectly logical explanation for them, really. It's just…" The mage bites her lip, as if she's debating her next course of action. After a brief moment, she turns pleading blue eyes to him. "I know this is going to sound, well, _odd_ but I need you to – could you just…" She lets out a frustrated sigh, tugging at her hair in what seems to be annoyance. Cullen simply stares as she mumbles several things to herself. After a while, she looks back to him and blurts, "Could you just swear to, um, secrecy, for me, please? I'm – I'm not doing anything _bad_! It's just that what I'm doing needs to be kept a secret because… It's, well, meant to be a bit of a surprise for a friend of mine, really. I don't want him finding out about this – not until it's ready, at least."

Well, that was appropriately vague.

The mage looks positively miserable though, so Cullen decides to take some pity on her. "I, ah, swear to keep quiet on this?" She doesn't look too convinced. Cullen can't blame her. He tries again, "I, ah, swear by the Prophetess Andraste to keep a vow of silence?" The mage, curiously enough, immediately perks up at the mention of the divine bride. Huh. Fancy that.

"Really?" Her enthusiasm is disarming. The smile blossoming across her face, however, has made it somehow difficult for him to speak – his breath, as inane and implausible as it sounds, appears to be stuck in his throat. After a few minutes of trying to scrabble up enough brain cells to allow for him to retake motor control of his vocal chords and produce a semblance of proper speech, Cullen meekly nods. If possible, the mage's smile grows even brighter. "That's – that's great! Really, it is. I mean, wow, you have no idea what a relief this is. For a second there, I thought you were going to – but no, of course not. That was just me being a tad pessimistic and silly, wasn't it? Yes, I suppose it was."

Her train of thought is a bit hard to follow. It's a little overwhelming. Not knowing what else to do, Cullen simply says, "The, uh, ice sculpted pastries?"

"What? The – _oh_, right, you mean those!" She gestures towards one of the replicas of cake shaped from ice. Cullen quickly nods. "Right. Well, you see, my friend's birthday is next month and he's turning eighteen. And it's not every day a person turns eighteen so I wanted to get him something special to commemorate the event, you know? So I decided that I'd make him something. Hand-made gifts are as special as it gets, right? And then I thought why not make him cake? I like cake. He likes cake. Everybody likes cake – well, I'd think so, anyways. I might just be jumping to conclusions here, but I really haven't met anyone who doesn't like cake. Unless _you_ don't happen to like cake. You don't happen to dislike cake, do you?" She tilts her head curiously and stares at him with attentive blue eyes, as if the next thing that comes out of his mouth is going to be monumental and life-changing instead of just a simple _why no, I don't dislike cake _or _why yes, I do_. It gives him a strange feeling of importance.

It also leaves him feeling quite baffled, to say the least.

"I, ah… no?" Maker, can he sound any less sure of himself? Internally wincing, Cullen clears his throat. "Ah, I mean no, I don't dislike cake. I, uh, like it just fine." The mage nods approvingly at him, a small smile starting to take place on her face again. He tries to ignore the small fluttering in his stomach. It doesn't work. Wanting to distract himself from it, Cullen quickly says, "So, you, ah, decided to make this friend of yours more than one ice sculpture of the pastry? You've made quite a lot of them."

The mage, curiously enough, looks surprised by his remark. "What? Oh, no. When I said I wanted to make him cake, I meant actual cake. As in baking. These," she taps one of the ice sculptures with her index finger, "were just practice. Well, sort of. Obviously, baking cake is an entirely different thing from shaping ice to look like cake but well…" She shrugs, a carefree gesture. "They helped me understand the basic structure of the pastry more, at the very least. I've also come to the realization that I'm probably not cut out for three-tier cakes. Or two-tier, now that I'm properly thinking about it."

Cullen blinks. He opens his mouth to reply but a memory from earlier suddenly hits him and before he can help himself, he blurts out, "But what about the ice sculpted _chicken_?"

Maker, how on earth did he forget about _that_ one?

"The – _oh_, you, ah, saw that?" Cullen is absolutely fascinated by the flush creeping up atop the mage's features. He can't help but notice that the tips of her ears have also been tinted a light pink. If he's being honest with himself, he'd call the sight endearing. "I, um… That is to say – well, you see – it's…"

She looks absolutely _mortified_. The mage is almost completely flustered now; the tips of her ears have even darkened to red.

Cullen suddenly finds himself torn between wanting to ease her mind and wanting to tease her.

…easing her mind wins. Just barely, though.

"You don't have to tell me. I was just curious," Cullen says, trying for a reassuring smile. He thinks it works; the mage is looking considerably more at ease than from seconds before. Her ears are still tinted with a little bit of color, though.

He tries to not find the sight distracting.

"You… You're very kind, aren't you?" The mage stares at him with something that looks vaguely like… wonderment. As if she's stumbled upon a particularly interesting puzzle. "I... suppose I wouldn't mind telling you. About the, um, chicken, that is."

Cullen blinks. That wasn't what he'd been expecting from his reassurance. A bit puzzled, he asks, "Are you, ah, sure?"

To his surprise, the mage smiles. "I am. I don't think I'd mind you knowing," she states simply, nodding to herself. After a while, she stops the movement and releases a small sigh. "I'm afraid it's nothing terribly interesting, though. It's more…" A wry smile finds its way onto her face. "It's more about me being, quote on quote, 'a silly little mageling who goes gallivanting around the Tower with not a thought to impeding the study of her peers and no care for further enhancement of her own skill and ability' than anything else, really."

Her words are wry. Cullen can't help but wonder who could've made her sound like that.

As if reading his thoughts, she turns to face him and offers a weak smile. "I overheard some of the Senior Enchanters talking and they… well. A few of them don't seem to like me that much, it appears." She looks to the floor. "I'm, ah, the perfect example of wasted potential, so it seems. At first, they were really impressed with my quick understanding and grasp of ice spells and had assumed that I was… well, a prodigy, I guess," she murmurs, shrugging a little. "But then they came to quickly realize that ice spells were the _only_ thing I could do. I'm rubbish at everything else; I can't even manage to create the tiniest sparks of fire." She pauses. And then ever so softly adds, "They sounded so disappointed."

She doesn't sound bitter. Just… sad.

Cullen doesn't quite know what to make of it.

What he does know is this: He wants to offer her comfort. He wants to wipe away that self-decrepitating look from her face and replace it with one of her smiles, warm and genuine.

He doesn't know how to, however, and words escape him.

Before he can find his voice, the mage sighs. "But I'm getting off topic now, aren't I? I was supposed to be talking about something else." She looks up from the floor, shifting her gaze onto him. "That is, if you'd still like to hear the story about it. The ice sculpted chicken, I mean."

She still looks a little sad. Not knowing what else to do, Cullen simply nods, hoping that, at the very least, a small change in topic would distract the mage from her previous train of thought.

"Right then. Back to the chicken." She suddenly bites her lower lip a little, looking almost… nervous. It's not much of a better look than from before. "Right. So, ah, how would you feel, if I said, and this is all very hypothetical, mind you, that that particular ice sculpture you saw was all part of a… well, challenge from a friend of mine, I suppose you could say, with the promise of some form of reward in compensation for successfully completing said challenge, maybe?"

It takes him a minute to decipher her jumbled mess of words.

And when the implications of her babbling finally hit him, Cullen squawks, "It was part of a _bet_?"

Maker, was that even _allowed_?

"I, ah, suppose you could call it that too?" She laughs nervously. Cullen just stares at her.

After a while, Cullen asks, "...what was the bet about?"

He finds himself a bit morbidly curious about her response, whatever it may be.

"Right. The, um, bet." She fidgets a little, showing her discomfort. "Well, I, um, have this friend. And he thinks that I'm spending too much time on… well, planning out my other friend's birthday present? And he wants me to take a break from working on my other friend's present, so he… challenged me, I guess? To a battle of wits? But not really? Unless you take out the 'wits' portion of the battle and insert more of 'who can get that mouser of that one templar over there to approach them first willingly', that is."

"A… mouser?" is what he finds himself saying, a bit inanely. The lack of eloquence he is displaying throughout this conversation is rather depressing. He can't help it though; there's something about this mage that leaves him quite speechless. He isn't sure if it's due to some odd fascination of her or just plain bewilderment.

Probably a little mixture of both, truth be told.

"Oh, um, that's what he calls cats? My friend, that is. Oh, but it's not that he calls them mousers _all _the time!" she says hastily, as if to dispel any misconceptions Cullen might have of her friend. "He only calls them mousers sometimes, really. He mostly calls them kitties, I think, but don't quote me on that, I could be wrong. And it isn't a derogatory term or anything of the sort – if anything it's more of a term of endearment, I would say. The term mousers, I mean. Really, he loves cats. He thinks they're 'fiercely adorable' or 'adorably fierce' or some such – I'm not so sure of the actual wording but, well. The point is he likes cats?"

She looks as if she's confused herself a little with her spiel. Cullen wouldn't be surprised; he's a little lost himself.

It takes him a while to think up of a response, but eventually he comes up with, "Are cats even allowed to be in the Tower?"

He wouldn't think so. He'd think that their presence would be in violation of some of the rules and regulations of the Tower. Which ones? He couldn't precisely say.

"I... don't think so? Not normally, anyways," she says, sounding a bit unsure of herself. "Now this is just some gossip I heard from the other apprentices, but Knight Commander Greagoir wasn't too… well." She pauses, looking deep in thought. "He wasn't too enthusiastic about the cat's presence at first, I heard, but he tolerated it for the sake of one of his templars, Templar Owen, I think his name was? Because Templar Owen needed to…" She frowns. "He needed to get rid of his cat. Because his wife had severe allergies, I believe, and was threatening to feed the poor creature to a den of dragonlings if she had to share the same space with it for a moment longer."

She looks a bit upset at the thought. He can understand; it is rather depressing.

Before he can even deign to comment on the situation or offer some form of comfort, the mage continues with, "So Templar Owen decided to bring his cat here in the Tower. In search of a new home for the animal, I guess. I think he was hoping that one of the other templars would want to adopt it." She nods briefly, as if confirming this to herself. "I also heard that he _doesn't _want coin for his cat. He just wants to find it a good home, one that doesn't have family members that will threaten to feed it to a bunch of fire-breathing critters." She smiles a little. "And I've been told that, after having a mock debate with First Enchanter Irving, Knight Commander Greagoir granted permission for Templar Owen to have his cat live in the Tower – temporarily, until Templar Owen finds a new home for it, of course, but still. That was a rather kind thing of the Knight Commander to do, nonetheless."

"That's… great," is all Cullen says in return. He doesn't know what else there is to say. He can't help but feel as if he's forgotten something, though…

Oh. Wait.

"But what does that have to do with the ice sculpture, exactly?" he asks, trying to steer the conversation back to his previous concern.

How was it that he always seemed to be forgetting about the ice sculpted chicken? The sight of _that_ sitting in the midst of a dozen ice sculpted pastries seated in a library was not at all common.

…or maybe it was. Here in the Tower, at least. The norm for magi would probably be vastly different from the norm for ordinary civilians, after all. What seemed strange to Cullen might just be part of the average mage's daily routine.

It's somewhat disconcerting, that thought.

"The ice sculpt – _oh_, right! That. Wow, I'm, ah, getting really off topic today, huh?" She looks a bit embarrassed, if that faint red staining her cheeks is of any indication. Cullen tries to not pay too much attention to the color and opts to nod encouragingly at her to continue. "Right. So. I, um, created that ice sculpture because… cats like birds? And cats like eating birds, I guess? And I couldn't think of anything else to attract its attention to me other than… shaping ice to look like a roasted chicken? It, ah, made perfect sense to me in my head at the time."

Well that's… a much simpler answer than he'd been expecting, actually. Even if it is a little bit silly. Curious, Cullen asks, "Did it work?"

To his utmost surprise, the mage laughs, a joyous sound. "Surprisingly, yes, it did! I was astonished, really – I thought for certain that the cat would ignore me in favor of my friend. He has a natural charm with them, you see. Cats, I mean." She smiles fondly. "Speaking of my friend, he didn't seem too upset about the outcome – he seemed rather amused by it, to be honest. I think I might have caught him laughing a little at my ice sculpture sometime later, actually. I couldn't say that for certain, though."

The look on her face is fond, colored with affection. It's a good look on her, happiness.

Strangely enough, there also appears to be something fluttering in his stomach at the moment, which is not so good in comparison. He tries to ignore the sensation by uttering whatever first thought comes to his mind, "So, uh, what was your prize?" Maker's breath! Could he have phrased that question any more poorly? Wincing, Cullen hastily adds, "I mean, if you don't mind telling me, that is to say."

Sweet Andraste, he is making an absolute_ fool_ of himself.

Thankfully, the mage doesn't appear to notice and simply responds with, "Oh, well, he promised to tutor me a little. In healing spells, that is. Which I am absolute _rubbish_ at, as I am with many other spells, so I wouldn't be at all surprised if I don't make much, if any, progress with his help. Even if he is one of the most talented healers I know. Not that I'm doubting his capabilities as a mentor! It's just… I'm not the best of students, is all." She sighs. She doesn't seem to dwell on the thought for too long, though, as she soon says, "Had he won, however, I would have had to take a break from working on my other friend's gift to help him plan and execute a… scheme, I think that's the right word, of his. He might've said something about swimming across the lake and he might've mentioned something else about distractions and scapegoats but my memory's a bit foggy on that point."

Cullen blinks. He doesn't quite know how to respond to that.

It takes him awhile, but he eventually thinks up of the question, "How long ago was this?"

The mage blinks at him. "How long ago was – oh, you mean the bet?" she asks, looking at him curiously. Cullen nods; he should've clarified himself. "Oh, um. Well, it happened a little while before breakfast, I believe, so… a couple of hours ago, six or seven or eight, I think, maybe?"

He's no expert in ice but that amount of time seems terribly off – the lifespan of an ice sculpture couldn't possibly be _that_ long. At the very least, some of the finer details should've melted off the piece. From what he'd remembered seeing, however, that was not the case.

The amount of detail he'd noticed still carved into her collection of ice sculptures (especially that of the roasted chicken) had been quite astounding, really.

Eventually, Cullen asks, "Why haven't any of them melted yet? Your ice sculptures, that is?"

"Um… magic?" is her reply, the look on her face sheepish. Cullen stares at her, not knowing whether or not to take her words seriously. A moment later, the mage says, "In all honesty, though, I have no idea. I do think that it _is_ because of my magic that they've managed to last this long but I could be wrong. You'd probably have better luck asking one of the Senior Enchanters about it – they're much better than I am at explaining things." She pauses suddenly, looking thoughtful. "Now that you've mentioned it, however, I probably should be getting rid of these ice sculptures – it'd be terrible if they all started melting here. The floors and tables would get wet, and quite possibly the books too. That would be bad." She frowns a little. "In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have created so many of them. Sure, they were fun to make and were a great source of practice for my future cake-making at the time but… well. There are an _awful_ lot of them here. It'll take me quite a while to remove them all from the library." She sighs, looking a bit put off by the thought. Nevertheless, she continues on with, "Well, I suppose I could always just try to rope a friend or two into helping me out – a couple of them owe me a favor, anyways. No big deal."

The words are casual but it is evident that she isn't too confident in the idea. Her gaze keeps shifting from ice sculpture to ice sculpture within the area, a small frown gracing her lips. She is right; there _are _an awful lot of ice sculptures for her to get rid of.

Before he can realize what he is doing, Cullen finds himself saying, "Uh, I could help you out with that, if you want."

He's surprised by his sudden offer. And, considering the look on her face, so is she.

"You would – what?" She looks completely baffled, as if he'd just spoken to her in Orlesian. "You would – really? Are you, um, sure? I mean, you – you really don't have to," she says in a rush, her words jumbling atop one another. "It's – that's a very kind thing of you to offer but – you probably have better things to do! I wouldn't want you to waste your time on me and my – my problems. That's not – it wouldn't be – I'd be taking advantage of you! You don't – the ice sculptures – they – they're _my_ fault. Mine, not, ah, yours."

What she says, though jumbled and incoherent, is true – what she'd done _was_ her fault. It really isn't any of his business on whether or not she manages to remove and dispose of all of the ice sculptures in the library before they begin to melt.

Despite this knowledge, Cullen still finds himself saying, "It's fine. I don't mind. Honestly, I don't have anything else to do at the moment."

Other than performing his duties as a templar, that is. Though, helping her out could also count as supervising her, right? While aiding her with her problem, he'd be able to keep a close watch on her and all of her activities – therefore it'd be rather difficult for her to abuse her magic without him knowing. He'd be standing right beside her, after all. So technically, he'd still be doing his duty.

"You… really?" she inquires, disbelieving. Cullen nods. She stares at him for a moment longer, disbelief still etched into her features, before the look slowly vanishes and a smile begins to grace her lips. "That's – that's, wow, thank you! I owe you for this, really. Honestly, you have no idea how much of a help this is. I just – thank you! Thank you so much, Ser…" she starts to trail off, eyes widening slightly. "I – I don't know your name. Oh, wow. I never introduced myself to you, did I? That was, ah, rather rude of me. Um, would you mind telling me your name, Ser, ah, Templar?"

He blinks. Strangely enough, he hadn't realized that no introductions had been made. Well, it was time to remedy that. He looks at her and replies with, "It's Cullen."

The mage beams happily at him. "Ser Cullen, then. It's a pleasure to meet you!" She's practically _bubbly_ with joy. He has to admit that the sight is somewhat endearing. "You can call me Eliora," is all she says before Cullen soon finds himself trailing after her outside of the library, an ice sculpted cake in hand, as they wander around the Tower searching for a suitable place to dispose of the replica pastries. They receive plenty of strange looks from mage and templar alike as they continue on with their search. Cullen, to his own surprise, finds that he doesn't care all too much about their stares; he's much too engrossed in the mage he is accompanying to heed the others any real attention.

And thus is the start of their, admittedly odd, friendship.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Of Ice Sculptures and Sweetened Doughs

**Summary:** The first time Cullen meets her, there is an alarming amount of ice sculptures scattered across the library. Cullen/Surana

**Genre(s): **friendship, humor, and the beginnings of a (awkwardly written) romance.

**Warning(s) for: **possible inaccuracies of the Dragon Age setting, a (high) probability of poor Cullen characterization, and a whole lot of nonsense.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Dragon Age series. I do, however, own Eliora and Darren.

**Note(s): **I am terribly sorry about the late update! To be honest, I had been having issues with writing this chapter and eventually gave up on it a few months ago. However, there was a sudden surge of Dragon Age posts on my Tumblr the other day, and it got me all inspired to continue this piece. Hopefully the next chapter of this story doesn't prove as difficult to write! Also, reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated!

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><p>In the course of five days, Cullen learns three things.<p>

One: The cake Eliora is attempting to make is for a fellow named Jowan.

Two: Jowan is her best friend.

Three: Eliora is probably going to end up poisoning Jowan with her gift.

"But the recipe sounds so simple! How could you say no? I mean – just look at it!" An opened book is promptly shoved into Cullen's face. A finger jabs sharply to one of the passages. "Look here, look at this – see how simple it is? I don't see how there can be any problem with it!"

Cullen skims through the contents of the pages that are held before him. After a brief moment, he frowns and says, "One of the ingredients is Concentrated Deathroot Extract. Another is Deathroot Toxin."

Eliora blinks at him. She turns the book around to face herself once more and looks at the pages it's opened on. After a while, she lowers the book from her face and says, "Okay, I'll admit that some of these ingredients don't look very appetizing – deathroot doesn't sound at all that pleasant of a root, what with the word 'death' being included in its name and all, but still, just because something _sounds_ terrible, doesn't necessarily mean it _tastes_ terrible."

Cullen stares at her. Eliora looks right back at him.

A moment of silence stretches between them.

"It's… deathroot," is what he finds himself saying, a little bit incredulously. Eliora doesn't even bat an eye. He tries again. "The recipe has _deathroot_ in it." The emphasis he puts on the word gets him a tilt of the head from the mage but not much else. Huh. Does she really not know about the nature of the plant? "Deathroot. As in poison?" He gives her a minute to digest the information. When her eyes finally widen with realization, Cullen can't stop himself from asking her, "Uh, are you trying to kill him?"

The words are said in jest, of course. Unfortunately for him, Eliora doesn't seem to quite pick up on that.

"I – what – _no! _No, of course not!" she blurts, wide-eyed, looking quite vexed by his accusation. "I wouldn't – I would never – not to Jowan! He's my best friend! He's – he's like a brother to me! I would never try to – to do _that _to him! Or – or to anyone else, honest! I just – I didn't – I hadn't _realized_–"

"It – it was a joke. I was joking," Cullen interrupts, wanting that distressed look off her face. He hadn't meant for his words to upset her. He'd just… He'd just wanted to tease her a little, is all. Lamely, he adds, "I was… I was just teasing you, a little. I know that you wouldn't… sorry. It was a bad joke."

"O-oh. Ah, no, um," Eliora shuffles a little, closing and bringing the book closer to her chest. She looks at the floor for a minute before mumbling, "I, um, probably overreacted a little." She's silent for a moment. Soon, however, she releases a big sigh and lifts her head up to him, the look on her face sheepish. "Or, a whole lot, actually. Sorry. If you hadn't noticed by now, I can be a bit of a spazz sometimes."

She lets out an awkward laugh. She tends to do that whenever she's embarrassed, Cullen's noticed. It's kind of endearing.

"It's fine. But, uh, what kind of book does a recipe like that come from, anyway?" he asks, genuinely curious. He may not be the most experienced cook around, but he is relatively certain that deathroot is not all that common of an ingredient in most cookbooks.

"Oh, um, well, let's see here…" Eliora flips the book around, peering closely at the cover. "_Exotic Antivan Delicacies: Over 200 Ways to Incorporate Aphrodisiacs and Poisons into Your Cooking_… oh." She lowers the book from her face. A sheepish smile graces her features. "Did I mention earlier how terribly stupid I can be at times? I did, didn't I?"

Cullen can't help it; he chuckles. "I don't think so. I do, however, remember you telling me something about how terrible of a student you are because of your tendency to overlook things. I have to admit, I'm a bit dubious about the chances of success of your cake making – you might end up using a recipe that you've neglected to realize is actually for pie," he replies, pleased at the small laugh that it garners him. She really does have a lovely laugh… but that isn't the type of thought he should dwell on for too long, or at all, really.

He really needs to get over this… _fascination _of her. They'd already formed a, tentative as it is, friendship together – there was no reason as to why he'd still be so… well, _aware_, of her.

…right?

"…alright? Ser Cullen?" The worried tone of her voice, rather than the mention of his name, is what snaps him out of his thoughts. He shakes his head, clearing his mind further, before taking a look at her. Eliora's mouth is curved into a worried frown, clearly concerned about something.

It takes him a moment longer than he'd like to admit to realize that she'd just asked him a question.

"I – sorry, I… I was lost in thought." Smooth move there, Cullen. He sighs. "Could you, uh, repeat that?"

"Oh! Well, um, I was just asking if you were alright. You looked a bit… off there, for a second." She looks quietly at him. After a moment, she carefully asks, "You… are alright, aren't you?"

She's worried about him. Oh.

Cullen tries a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, thank you. I was just lost in thought, is all." By the look on her face, he isn't being very convincing. Best to change her focus onto something else. He gestures at the book she's holding. "Aren't you done with that? You might want to switch it out for something else."

She blinks. "What? Oh, right. This." She looks honestly surprised to see the book in her hands, as if she'd completely forgotten that she'd been holding onto it throughout their entire conversation. She sighs a little. "Right. Jowan probably wouldn't take too kindly to a poisonous cake, would he?" She doesn't wait for him to answer, instead choosing to walk over towards to the closest bookshelf. After placing her book back into one of the shelf's crevices, she runs her finger across the spines of a row of books. She hums lightly. "Hmm… no, not that one, but how about… no, that one's no good either, but maybe… ooh, maybe this one!" She plucks a book out of the shelf. She swiftly turns to face him, smiling brightly. "Ser Cullen! This one certainly looks promising, doesn't it?"

The words _La O__rlais et Gâteau _decorate the cover of the book she is holding in elegant, golden script. Underneath the delicate writing lies an image of a decadent slice of cake, drizzled generously with smooth frosting. Cullen has to admit; it's an appealing sight. However…

"Can I see that for a moment?" Eliora graciously hands him the book. He flips it open to a random page and quickly skims through its contents. After a brief moment, he sighs and closes the book shut. "I thought so." At the inquisitive noise Eliora makes, Cullen offers her a weak smile. "It's, ah, written in Orlesian. Do you understand the language?"

"Oh. No. I don't." Her shoulders slump. A morose frown mars her features. She looks positively crestfallen. His chest twinges a little at the sight.

Silly as it may sound, he can't help but feel responsible for her plummeted mood. Sure, even if he hadn't said anything, she would've soon found out the truth upon opening the book herself, but…

It was _his _words that had upset her. It was _he _who had been the one to bring the problem to light. He, regardless of his good intentions, had been the one to make her sad – and that was the last thing he had wanted to do. He doesn't want to make her sad; he wants to see her smile. More specifically, he wants to be the one making her smile.

Cullen tries to not dwell on the _whys _of his thoughts. He does not think about why he does not like seeing her sad, about why he does not like the idea of being the one to upset her, about why he wants to see her smile, or about why he wants to be the reason for her smiles. Instead, he tries to think up of an apology to give her.

However, before he can even make any attempts at an awkward 'sorry for pointing out the fact that the book's written in Orlesian', Eliora looks up to him and asks, "Do, ah, do you?"

Cullen blinks, caught a little off guard. When he finally makes sense of her question, he gives an awkward little shrug of his shoulders. "A little. Though, I don't think I'm proficient enough to translate an entire recipe, I'm afraid." He tries for an apologetic smile; it feels awkward on his lips. "Sorry."

Eliora, in turn, blinks at him. "Wait, what? Why're you apologizing?"

Cullen carefully refrains himself from saying things like _because you looked sad_ and _because I don't understand Orlesian very well_. His thoughts sound silly enough in his head – no need for him to make himself look like a fool by uttering them aloud.

The only thing he can do is give an awkward shrug. Surprisingly, Eliora smiles at that. "You're silly."

Cullen blinks. He isn't quite sure how he's supposed to respond to that. "I'm sorry?"

His confusion is met with by a small laugh. "You – you apologize when you've done nothing wrong. It's a bit silly," is her explanation when he gives her a curious look. Before he can even utter a sound, she continues on with, "Not that it's a bad thing, mind you – being silly, that is. I quite like it, actually. You being silly."

She smiles at him. Cullen doesn't know how to react. He's quite flabbergasted, really.

Eliora tends to have that effect on him, he's noticed.

She seems to have not been expecting a response from him, as she soon lets out another laugh and says, "Sorry, sorry! That was a bit random of me, wasn't it? I can be a bit off topic, at times. Oh, can you hand that back to me, by the way? I'm fairly certain we're not going to be able to get anything of use out of it." It takes him a moment to realize that she's referring to the book in his hands. Clumsily, he hands back _La O__rlais et Gâteau _to her, to which she responds with a grateful smile and a '_thanks!'_, before turning her attention back to the bookshelf. "Let's hope I choose something that isn't written in Orlesian this time… oh, how does _Treats__ in __Tevinter__, _sound to you?"

He blinks. "_Tevinter_? I'm surprised the Chantry even allowed it to be in the library," Cullen answers honestly. He doesn't even want to think about what sorts of ingredients a Tevinter cookbook would use.

Things connected to the Tevinter Imperium were things he'd rather not get involved with, given the choice. Even if those things seem as harmless as a cookbook.

"Well, it _is_ just a cookbook," Eliora responds, taking the book out and flipping it open. "And what harm could a cookbook possibly… oh. _Oh_." Her face, curiously enough, turns scarlet. Before he can even think about asking her about what had gotten her so flustered, she swiftly closes the book shut and hastily shoves it back into the shelf. When she turns to face him again, Eliora hides a cough into a closed fist. "I'm, um, relatively certain we won't be needing that. W-why? Well, because, um… the – the, uh, Tower doesn't stock up on some of those, err, ingredients that the, um, book calls for."

Oh, now she's got him curious.

Cullen hesitates. "Can I see –"

"No!" she interrupts, before wincing slightly. "Sorry. Sorry for cutting you off. That was very rude of me, but, um…" She releases a long sigh. "You… you, ah, really don't want to know what's in that book. It's, um, something you don't need to see." She bites her lip. After a short moment, she sighs again and looks up pleadingly at him. "Just, trust me on this, please?"

For a brief second, Cullen inanely thinks to himself that her eyes are so very, very blue.

Then that second is over and Cullen is brought back to the present in which he still does not know what is in that book and in which Eliora is still looking at him with such blue, blue eyes and in which he –

– he pointedly does not complete that thought, because, _Maker, _what is he thinking?

"Ser Cullen?" breaks into his thoughts and _right, _Eliora, she had told him that he didn't need to see what was in that book and had asked him to trust her and –

– she was still waiting for him to answer her, wasn't she?

"I – alright." Eloquent as always. He withholds the urge to sigh. Maker, what is wrong with him?

Eliora seems to be wondering the same thing, as she tilts her head and frowns ever so slightly at him. Her next words, however, are a complete surprise. "Are you… are you _mad_ at me?"

"What? No!" is his immediate response. His earlier nervousness seems to completely disappear from his body, leaving him instead with the company of utter bewilderment. Cullen really doesn't know what to make of the situation. He finds himself asking, "Mad? Why would I be mad?"

"I, well… you were just quiet for so long and you had this odd look on your face as if you were… glaring?" She pauses, looking terribly unsure of herself for a moment. Before Cullen can think of a decent reply, she haltingly asks, "You… you weren't glaring at _me_, were you?"

"No_, _no, of course not. I was…" _Distracted by how blue your eyes are. _As soon as the thought passes through his head, Cullen feels himself tense up and has the very sudden urge to slap himself. Sweet Andraste, just _what_ is he thinking? Those aren't the type of thoughts he should be having! Desperately, Cullen tries to squash the thought down and gets out a, "I was just lost in thought, again, is all." He winces. Maker, it sounds like such a flimsy excuse. Never mind that it _is_ true.

"O… kay? If you say so." She doesn't look too convinced with his answer. Cullen can't blame her. Thankfully, she doesn't try to press the issue any further and moves on with, "So, um, I'm going to go and try to look for a cookbook again, and you can continue to prevent me from accidentally poisoning Jowan with dangerous plants and stop me from picking up things that are written in Orlesian. Does that, uh, sound good to you?"

Cullen blinks. He looks at her and her little, unsure, hopeful smile and finds the tension in his body draining away. He relaxes. "That… yeah, that sounds good to me."

Her smile brightens. "Great!" She swiftly turns back to the bookshelf, presumably browsing through its contents. After a brief moment, she says, "Oh, what do you think about the title _Kirkwall Kakes_? Though, hmm…" She pauses. Cullen can just imagine the thoughtful look she must have on her face. "They spelt 'cake' with a 'K'. That's a bit… odd, don't you think?"

"…a bit, yes," he confirms, the words drawn out of him slowly. Perhaps there'd been a few printing errors in the process of the book being published?

"Hmm. I suppose I'll put that down as a 'maybe' for now, then." She's quiet again. Before Cullen can say something as terribly cliché as_ penny for your thoughts_, Eliora lets out an '_oh!_' and plucks another book out of the shelf. She turns to face him cheerfully, holding up the book triumphantly, as if it were some marvelous prize she'd just won. "_Food for Ferelden Feasts_! I remember Darren saying something about this book to me earlier."

Cullen refrains himself from asking _who's Darren. _ It's none of his business, really. Besides, Darren was probably just another friend of hers, like that fellow Jowan.

…right?

An ecstatic '_Oh, yes! This is perfect!_' immediately snaps him out of his thoughts. Cullen blinks and looks at her. Eliora looks absolutely absorbed in the book; she must've opened it up while he was lost in thought. "No deathroots, no Orlesian writing, no questionable content that deals absolutely nothing with any actual cooking…" Wait, what? Before he can ask her what she means by that, Eliora barrels on with, "Simple ingredients, and a very simple recipe! Oh, Ser Cullen, I think we have a winner!"

She's positively _beaming _at him. The smile on her face is almost blinding. Cullen desperately scrambles his brain for an intelligent reply.

What he ends up with is, "That's great?"

Thankfully, Eliora either does not notice his lack of eloquence or simply chooses to ignore it, as she nods her head vigorously and merrily goes on with, "It is, it is! Fantastic, really! Oh, thank you, Ser Cullen, I would've never found it without your help – oh, and Darren's, too, I suppose. I probably should've just looked up what he had recommended from the start, shouldn't have I? Ah, well, I'll have to thank him the next time I –"

Her next words are abruptly caught off by a new voice.

"Eliora, is that you? Maker, I've been looking all over the place for you. Figures you'd be – oh."

That… isn't a voice he recognizes.

Cullen turns. Before him stands a human male with a mess of dark curls for hair. He, like Eliora, is wearing robes, but the one he's sporting on looks different than the ones that apprentices usually wear – a harrowed mage, perhaps?

The look on the newcomer's face is… wary, to say the least. The man opens his mouth before promptly closing it shut seconds later, looking rather… well, _unhappy_ may be the best term. He then shakes his head before opening his mouth once more in what Cullen assumes to be another attempt at speech –

"Darren!"

– and is promptly interrupted by the cheerful voice of Eliora.

"What wonderful timing you have – I was just talking about you!" Eliora declares, smiling brightly as she takes a few steps away from the bookcase, only to stop at Cullen's side. This close up, Cullen realizes just how _small_ Eliora is in comparison to himself.

There's at least a foot of difference in height between them, he suddenly finds himself thinking.

The newcomer, Darren, looks to Eliora and blinks. "You were?"

"Yes, I was just telling Ser Cullen – oh, wait," she pauses, alternating her gaze between Cullen and Darren. The look on her face is thoughtful, almost considering. After a while, she carefully asks, "You two… don't know each other, do you?" They both shake their heads. Eliora nods to herself. "Right. Um, introductions then. Darren, this is Ser Cullen. Ser Cullen, Darren."

"Ah, hello," Cullen greets lamely, giving an awkward nod of his head to the other male. Darren doesn't reply, instead opting to look at him blankly.

After a tense moment of silence, Darren gives his own nod of acknowledgement. "Pleasure," he says and the word is carefully neutral.

Cullen gets the distinct impression that Darren doesn't like him.

Eliora seems to pick up on that idea as well, as she hides an awkward cough into her hand and quickly says, "Um, right then! Introductions made. Great. So, uh, Darren, you said you were looking for me? Is there, um, something you need?"

Darren's gaze flits back and forth between Cullen and Eliora. After another tense silence, he replies, "Senior Enchanter Torrin wants to speak with you."

The words are directed towards Eliora, of course, but he's looking blankly at Cullen as he speaks them.

It's a little bit unnerving.

"Oh, he does? Uh, best we don't keep him waiting. I, um, suppose we should get a move on, then!" Eliora says in a rush, scurrying away from Cullen's side to Darren's. She nudges the other mage to the direction of the exit with her book, blurting out the words, "Uh, people to see, places to be! Let's, um, get a move on with it, chop, chop!"

"Fine, fine," Darren relents, allowing her to push him towards the exit's direction. "I'm going, I'm going, no need to shove."

"Just, ah, helping you get motivated," she replies hastily, as Darren walks away. Eliora heaves out a large sigh before turning to face Cullen. She looks at him apologetically. "Sorry about that. I don't know what his problem is. He's usually a very sweet guy, I swear. But, um, I really did have a great time with you today – I'll, uh, see you tomorrow, maybe?"

She's got another unsure, hopeful smile on her face again.

Cullen can't say no to that smile.

"Uh, yes. Definitely. I'll, ah… be here. In the library, that is."

_Smooth_.

His answer seems to please Eliora, though, as the smile on her face brightens in response. "Great! It's a promise then. I'll see –"

"_Eliora!_ Senior Enchanter Torrin is waiting!"

"– be there in a moment, Darren!" she calls back, before shaking her head again. She smiles sheepishly at Cullen. "Err, sorry. Um, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Right," he says and he watches her as she heads towards Darren's side, a smile on her face and the book _Food for Ferelden Feasts _clutched protectively to her chest.

He doesn't miss the frown that Darren sends his way before the two leave.

**o.O.o**

Eliora isn't in the library the next day.

**o.O.o**

Or the next.

**o.O.o**

Cullen doesn't see her for the remainder of that week.


End file.
